This Is How It Works
by nicalyse
Summary: He didn't mean to kiss her at Chang's party last year. He was drunk. It just sort of...happened. And, hell, she'd been the one who grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs.
1. Chapter 1

It's not really a surprise that Rachel loves weddings, and it certainly isn't a surprise that Sam and Quinn are the first in their little group to get it together. She thinks it's romantic, high school sweethearts getting married, even if it is a little faster than she would have advised given that they're both nineteen. Sam proposed over dinner on Christmas Eve with Quinn's mother, and they had decided that sooner was better.

The story was really quite romantic. Sam had talked to Mrs. Fabray when they were both home for Thanksgiving, then spent a month going crazy with anticipation as he waited for the holidays. How could you not think it was romantic that Sam had Quinn's mother for permission to propose even after three years of being together? And now Quinn is getting her perfect white wedding.

Maybe it's weird, but Rachel is actually looking forward to summer in Lima. Her first year of school was wonderful and fulfilling in exactly the way she'd expected, and while she wasn't quite overwhelmed by everything, it had been months without much of a break. The slow pace of summer is incredibly appealing to her right now. Sure, she has dance classes and voice lessons scheduled, but she has every intention of watching silly movies and reading books for fun and spending time with old friends. She knows she only has another year or two to behave like this during the summer, and she intends to take advantage of it before life demands more of her.

She had actually been surprised by how easy it was to lose track of people from high school. Outside of Quinn and Tina, she hadn't really kept in touch with anyone regularly. Of course, there was always Facebook, that bastion of procrastination, to keep her informed. She knew Kurt had a boyfriend, that Brittany and Santana were living and cheering together at USC, and that Puck was in Columbus at OSU (just like approximately a third of the students in their graduating class). It was strange though, to know that Mercedes had a boyfriend in Cincinnati who she had met in a media studies course and that Finn had joined a fraternity, even though she hadn't spoken to either of them since Mike Chang's end-of-summer party back in August.

She's spent the last nine months trying to forget that particular night.

She plans to sleep in on Saturday morning simply because she's exhausted. She'd done a two-week run in the spring musical and then gone straight into the craziness of finals, and even with her strict schedule she'd felt a little overwhelmed. She and her fathers spent all day Friday moving her things from her dorm at Oberlin back to Lima, and with Quinn's wedding just a week away, she knew she'd be busy. Saturday was her last chance to sleep in and have a lazy morning until after the wedding.

She is less than pleased when her bed dips under the weight of another person.

"We have to go shopping," Quinn announces, bouncing a little.

"Sleep," Rachel moans, clutching the comforter and pulling it up over her eyes.

"Don't whine." She tugs on the comforter, pulling it from Rachel's grasp. "Come on, I need honeymoon lingerie, and you told me that you want a new dress for the rehearsal dinner."

"You suck," Rachel tells her seriously, sitting up and glaring at the blonde. "I'll go, but you're buying me coffee."

"You shower, I'll go to Starbucks."

Quinn is gone before Rachel can even climb from beneath the covers, and she gives up on the idea of of a lazy, relaxing Saturday, shuffling grudgingly into the bathroom. Quinn is her best friend, and this is the last week that their friendship will be exactly like this. Sam and Quinn have been together for years, yes, and Rachel has always felt that their relationship came ahead of the girls' friendship, but marriage necessitates change, doesn't it? They'll be living together and sleeping together, and they'll have the same last name.

They've never been able to pinpoint the moment when they became friends, though they did figure out that Finn somehow masterminded the whole thing with a little help from Sam. Something about the two of them hating that their girlfriends were at one another's throats, and Rachel is pretty sure that Finn used the phrase "team unity," which everyone knows was basically her kryptonite. They had worked together on an English project at the beginning of senior year and became editing partners, and then somehow they were chatting on the phone and defending each other against Santana's antagonism and not drinking at the parties they'd grudgingly agreed to attend.

Rachel is actually smiling when she turns off the water and starts squeezing the water out of her hair. It doesn't matter how it happened, really; Quinn is one of her best friends.

An hour after the unwelcome wake-up, they're in Victoria's Secret. "How is it possible that you haven't already gotten your honeymoon lingerie?" Rachel asks, fingering a rack of lace bustiers.

"I tried," Quinn answers. "Really. I went with a couple of the girls from the squad, but everything they tried to get me to buy was slutty. They were shopping for themselves instead of for me, so I knew I had to wait until I could go with you."

Rachel had heard plenty of stories about the OSU cheerleaders since her friend had started school. They were nationally ranked elite athletes, but from what Rachel could tell, they were far from pillars of morality. "I'm not sure if you're insulting them or flattering me."

"Both," Quinn answers easily. "I can't decide what direction to go," she complains, standing between a racks of red lace and pink satin. "Do I want to look virginal even though I'm not a virgin, or vixenish even though I'm definitely not a vixen?"

"The honeymoon is a week. Do both," Rachel suggests with a shrug. She isn't entirely sure why she's the one helping with this particular task; Tina is the one with the boyfriend. "Buy a whole wardrobe of lingerie."

"I have my father's credit card," Quinn admits, biting her lip. Rachel knows that her friend has mixed feelings about this after his reaction to her pregnancy and the way he treated her mother. Of course, Mr. Fabray is paying for the majority of the wedding, so maybe she's more at peace with it than Rachel realizes. "He might actually lose his mind if he sees that I changed hundreds of dollars at Victoria's Secret."

"Let him. He deserves it after everything he's pulled in the last few years, and by the time he sees it you'll already be a married woman living with your husband in another city. It's not like he'll be able to do anything about it."

Rachel follows as the blonde makes her way to a rack of black lace. "Garter belts are really hot, aren't they?" she asks, and Rachel knows her mind is made up.

Abby wakes him up at 6:30, and he decides that going to hardware store for a deadbolt is item number one on his to-do list for the day. Fuck if he's going to let her wake him up at dawn just because she can. (He's also berating himself for showing her how to pick a lock with a bobby pin when he was home for winter break; that shit's biting him in the ass.)

Puck doesn't hate his sister, and he doesn't hate being back home. His mom is one hell of a cook, and even when she isn't home, there's always food around, and quite a few of the guys are home for summer too. Yeah, there's an accountability factor to being back here that he didn't have to deal with at school, but it's really not a big deal. His mom doesn't care what he does, she just wants to know that he's okay. So, he'll let her know when he's going to be out late (or all night), and she'll stay off his back.

His plan is two-fold: make money and do nothing. He's been "seasonal" at Sheets 'n Things and getting raises for so long that his hourly salary is damn good, and maybe it's mindless, stupid, boring work, but it's also easy. So he'll work part time, hang out with his sister so his mom doesn't have to pay a sitter for a few months, chill with the guys, and see if he can find a new chick to bang since Santana's staying in LA for the summer. The whole thing sounds like a pretty sweet deal.

He's already up even after he kicks Abby out of his room, so he decides to go for a run.

This week is going to be fucking bizarre he thinks as he takes off a light jog down the street. Sam and Quinn are getting married, and no matter how much he hears about how romantic it is or how perfect they are or how it isn't a surprise, it's weird.

They're totally gonna get divorced.

Seriously, they're getting married to have sex, and they're going to get divorced. There's no other reason to get married when you're fucking _nineteen_. Quinn had been devoted to her whole "born-again" deal since Beth, and Sam was too pussy-whipped to do anything about it. Whatever. Sam asked him to be a groomsman even after Puck told him he was stupid, and Q was cool with it, so he'll wear the tux and stand in the church and keep his mouth shut.

Once he'd stopped being mad that Sam was with Quinn, Puck had realized the dude was sort of cool. They spent a lot of time together in high school between sports and glee club, and when they both ended up in Columbus for school they'd started a weekly poker game with a couple of other guys. When Sam started talking about getting a ring around Halloween (Actually, on Halloween. They were at some house party, and Sam spilled his drunken guts when Quinn went to the bathroom.), Puck told him he was fucking stupid. (And left the party with a little redhead dressed up like the chick from _The Wizard of Oz_.) Apparently Sam didn't care what Puck thought, because Quinn got a rock for Christmas, and now, less than six months later, they're getting hitched.

Being part of the wedding means that he has actual responsibilities or whatever, and he totally isn't willing to face the Wrath of Quinn if he fucks anything up, so he's going to make an effort and shit. If it wasn't for the bridesmaids - one in particular - he might actually be looking forward to the circus this weekend.

Rachel fucking Berry had been under his skin for almost a year.

Fine. If he's being honest, it's been a lot longer than that. She's kind of a like a staph infection: Fucking ridiculous and crazy-hard to get rid of. (What? His mom's a nurse. He knows stuff.)

He didn't mean to kiss her at Chang's party last year. He was drunk. It just sort of...happened. And, fuck, she'd been the one who grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs. And, yeah, he slid his hand up her thigh and under her dress, but she sure as fuck didn't stop him.

The next morning, she'd just put her dress back on and given him this smile that made him want to pull the dress back up over her head. He saw her that afternoon with Quinn, but he knew she didn't tell because he knew Q would have demanded his side of the story. To this day, he isn't sure if he wishes that she had told.

They're having a co-ed bachelor/bachelorette party Saturday night, and Rachel thinks it's kind of sweet. Plus, it's the first time that everyone's hung out since they all went to school, and she has to admit that she's looking forward to seeing them all after nearly a year. They're gathering at Finn's because Burt and Carole agreed that the underage drinking wasn't an issue given the occasion, and even though Finn, as best man, is technically the host, she knows that Kurt is really the one taking care of everything.

The family had moved into a larger house before Finn and Kurt's senior year, and the new basement was basically an enormous man cave. In fact, that was how those who lived there referred to it. It's the room where Burt and Finn watch sports and Kurt watches _Fashion Police_, and Rachel spent a fair amount of time curled up on the leather couch with Finn watching movies when they were dating. (She tried not to think about the times they'd had sex on that couch when she walked down the stairs into the basement.)

Finn. She couldn't have asked for her first love to be more wonderful, even if they weren't meant to be together forever. No, their relationship hadn't always been perfect; they had a lot of ups and downs and miscommunications, and it seemed like other people were always somehow involved, but when it came down to it, they did love one another. But the relationship ran its course, and they drifted apart, and it wasn't long after graduation that they agreed to just be friends. She still loves him as one of her best friends, and she loves him for being that sweet, well-meaning boy she fell for when she was fifteen.

(Still, looking at that couch made her cheeks warm.)

Quinn and Sam each had nights out with friends back in Columbus before school ended, so the party is small, and nearly all of the guests are people Rachel recognizes from high school. Some of the football players and Cheerios who were less awful, girls from the celibacy club (really?), and, of course, plenty of the former members of glee club. She catches sight of Tina and one of Quinn's cousins sipping wine on the opposite side of the room and makes her way to them.

Puck's standing behind the bar in the corner mixing a Jack and Coke for Sam when Rachel comes down the stairs, and he fucking hates himself for looking at her legs. They just look really good in that white sundress she's wearing. Her hair is longer than it was last time he saw her, and she's wearing it straight so it falls in a sheet down her back with her bangs brushed to one side.

He knocks back the rest of his beer and decides that he definitely needs another. Or maybe it's time to switch to something stronger.

He can think of a dozen reasons why getting wasted at Sam and Quinn's stupid party is a bad idea, but all of those are canceled out by the one totally stellar reason: So he can blame the booze when he says something fucking stupid to (or about) Rachel. He knows it's coming, and he's sure she does too. Fuck, if she'd actually told anyone else about what hapened last year, they'd all be expecting it too, but she hasn't said anything. And the fact that she hasn't - and he doesn't know why she hasn't - is probably part of why he's so fixated on it.

To say the party is low-key would be an understatement. It's basically just everyone milling around, chatting and laughing while music plays in the background, but he doesn't mind so much. It's easier to keep track of people (Rachel) that way, and even though he knows it's a dumb idea, he starts talking to her.

(Granted, he's also lost track of how many drinks he's had. And what he's been drinking. Fuck, he's still sober enough to fake being sober, so he's kosher.)

"'Sup, Berry?" he asks, snagging her by the wrist when she walks by. He was talking to one of Quinn's cousins, but it wasn't really an interesting conversation. Chick's on the abstinence bandwagon, and she's Catholic, and she's in school to be a kindergarten teacher or something, so he's kind of over it.

Rachel looks up at him, startled. "Kurt asked if I would go to the kitchen to get more ice."

"Need some help?"

"I can manage." She glances down at her wrist, which is still caught in his hand, and he realizes that he's tracing his thumb over the pulse there. Oops.

"Nah," he says with a slow grin. "Lemme help."

He follows her up the stairs because he's an idiot and a masochist, apparently. He doesn't really understand how her dress is so hot since it isn't showing anything off, but it really is, and he wants to wrap her hair around his fist, tilt her head back, and kiss her stupid. It's completely messed up, he knows, but it's really hard to care right now.

He leans against the counter and watches her pull a bag of ice from Carole's fancy ass freezer and starts pouring it into the fancy ass bucket he _knows _Kurt bought. "If you weren't going to help me, why did you even come up here?" she asks after a long moment. She finds his watching her unnerving.

He shrugs. He doesn't really know how he's supposed to help her move ice cubes from the bag to the bucket. "Big plans this summer?" He's not sure if he's asking stupid questions because he's drunk or because he can't think when he's around her. (And yes, that's new, and it's freaking him out a little.)

"No, thank goodness."

"You mean Rachel Berry doesn't have every second of her summer planned to death?" he asks with a smirk. "Did you get a personality transplant?"

"Charming, Noah." She doesn't even bother looking at him. "I had a busy semester, and I'm looking forward to enjoying some free time."

"We should hang out."

She tosses the empty plastic bag into the trash can under the sink before she turns to look at him. "Hang out?" She blinks, and he notices for the first time that she's wearing more eyeliner than she used to. "Is that a euphemism?"

"For what?" he asks, mostly because he wants to know if she'll say it. She was bold enough to ask the question, which is weirdly hot, but he needs to know if she'll spell it out.

"For sex." Fuck. "Because the last time I saw you, we were in the weird attic bedroom at Mike Chang's the morning after we had sex." _Fuck_.

He shifts slightly, blocking her path back to the basement stairs with his body. "Would you be down for that?" He takes a step toward her, and she hates herself for moving away from him. It's weakness, and it just gives him the opportunity to box her in between his body and the counter, leaving her with nowhere to go when he leans down and kisses her.

The kiss is neither chaste nor particularly sexual. It's more...persuasive, the way it feels when he slants his lips over hers. It's soft, and he lingers just long enough to feel her give in to the kiss before he pulls away, murmuring her first name as he leans his forehead against hers. He takes a deep breath and a step back, because if he doesn't put some space between their bodies, he might do more than kiss her.

She picks up the ice bucket and brushes past him, and he hates that he notices the way the ends of her hair tickle his forearm. "I'm not sure," she says, and her voice is so nonchalant that she's either a better liar than she was in high school, or she really means it.

She's out of the kitchen and down the stairs before he can fully process what just happened, and he thinks that even if he didn't fuck up his whole summer, he's definitely fucked up the rest of this week. It's not like he can avoid her when they're both in this stupid fucking wedding.

Rachel understands the allure of using alcohol as a social crutch now in a way that she never has before, and she regrets promising to be a designated driver for the evening, especially when she knows that the majority of the guests who are drinking will end up crashed on various flat surfaces in the Hummel home.

Her "encounter" with Noah in the kitchen put her in a bad mood. She can't quite put her finger on it, but she resents his proposition. That he would suggest that she would be willing to take part in a casual arrangement is demeaning, she's sure, and the way that he asked was hardly flattering. God, he half-goaded her into saying it for him, even though he knew exactly what he was asking. He's crass and disgusting, and last summer was an accidental, one-time thing.

A one-time thing that's essentially running on a loop in her mind's eye.

(She hates herself for it because she knows it means that some part of her - obviously the part unenlightened by feminism - is considering his ill-presented proposition.)

They've kissed before, obviously, but what happened in the kitchen was somehow different. They've kissed when she was wishing he was someone else, and when she was trying to hurt that same someone else, and when they were both drunk and chasing something physical. His words were crude and borderline inappropriate, but the way he kissed her was a contrast to that. It was soft and slow, and he hadn't even put his hands on her. She just doesn't understand, and she doesn't cope particularly well with confusion.

It's ridiculous that he's always been able to get under her skin like this. It's infuriating, really, because it demonstrates a lack of self-control on her part. There's no reason that she shouldn't be able to just get along with him until after the wedding. She should push everything (and she's trying not to think about exactly what she means by everything) aside, bite her tongue, and wait until after Saturday when she won't have to play nice any more.

Her thought process is nonsensical, and she hasn't even been drinking. She hates this.

Kurt perches on the arm of the chair she's sitting in. "Your show face is slipping."

She looks up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You're brooding."

"I do not brood," she answers with a scowl. He's completely right. "I guess I was just off in another world."

He doesn't look convinced when he takes a slow sip of his martini. "It's amazing. You're a more-than-decent actress, but a terrible liar. How does that even happen?"

"Are you just here to say not-quite-nasty things to me?" They've been friends, more or less, since junior year, but they have this snarky thing going on that really only they understand. It's all an expression of love, honestly, and she's not sure that she would change their relationship even if she could.

"Rachel, please. There's something on your mind, and you know you'll just feel better if you get it out in the open."

"I most certainly will not," she says without thinking, and she immediately realizes that she should have kept her big mouth shut. She all but told him that she was keeping a secret, and Kurt was like a terrier when he sniffed out information he wanted. "It's nothing, really. I think I'm just a little jealous of how happy Sam and Quinn are. I want something like that." It isn't completely a lie, even if it isn't something that she's really looking for right now and definitely not what she was just thinking about.

They both look over at the loveseat (aptly-named) where the bride and groom are sitting, their perfect blonde heads together as they laugh at some joke that's just between them. "It's easy to be jealous of that," Kurt agrees a bit wistfully. "But I still know that you're lying. It's okay," he says, cutting her off when she opens her mouth. "I'll let it go for now because I've had one drink too many to really pursue the information with the vigor it demands, but this is just a reprieve. I'll be back."

She can't help grinning. "You just quoted _The Terminator_ at me."

"Shut up," he says dismissively, standing and walking away from her giggles.

"Dude," Finn manages through his cough. "Are you serious about this?"

"There weren't any strippers at this fucking travesty of a bachelor party, and that's your fault," Puck reminds him. Finn's the best man; strippers are totally his job. "The least we can do is smoke cigars."

Sam shrugs and blows out a puff of smoke. "Quinn would be pissed, man."

"She's not here," Mike reminds him. "She can't get pissed."

"Have you met Quinn Fabray?" Sam asks, looking at Mike with raised eyebrows. "My chick be scary." Yeah, Sam's pretty drunk, and apparently Chang is too, because that exchange didn't exactly make sense. Were they talking about strippers or smoking?

Once he convinced a few of the guys that they should head outside and be men, Puck actually started having fun at this bullshit gathering. He didn't actually care that there weren't strippers. They always had dead eyes, and strippers in Lima were even worse than most. But between Kurt and Quinn's twittering cousins and the fact that Rachel was there, hanging out in the basement was pretty awful. So now they're sitting around a table on the back deck, smoking cigars and nursing beers, and even though it's a little cold, it beats being back downstairs.

Puck's blowing smoke rings when the back door opens, and of fucking course Rachel walks out. "You're all disgusting," she announces without missing a beat.

"Don't be mean, Rach," Finn half-whines. About a third of the time, Drunk Finn is a whiny bitch.

"The four of you, with voices like yours, smoking cigars at nearly three a.m. after a night of drinking, sitting outside in the late spring chill, are just _asking _to ruin yourselves. And you," she adds, looking pointedly at Sam, "won't be getting married at all if you end up sick over this."

Evans pouts like a girl. "Not that big a deal."

"Why you gotta be a buzzkill, Berry?"

She absolutely glares at him, and a lesser man than Puck might shrink back. "Oh, of course this is your idea." He smirks because fuck yes, it was his idea, and she huffs and rolls her eyes. "I just came out to see if anyone needed a ride home. I'm the last sober driver here, so unless you want to spend the night, you're going with me."

He considers it. Seriously, he considers it, and he must be more drunk than he thought he was if he's thinking about getting into a car with the girl he's been avoiding all night. Well, since he kissed her in the kitchen. Thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut.

"Nah, I think we're all staying here," Finn says after a long moment, and Puck's actually relieved that Hudson opened his mouth.

"All right." She wrinkles her nose a bit as she gazes around the table, and Puck wonders if he just imagines that she doesn't actually look at him. "Please, go inside soon. I sincerely don't want any of you to get sick."

"Stop mothering." Yeah, he's an asshole, and he can tell she agrees by the way her face hardens. "We're big boys."

"You're a jerk," she tells him flatly before turning on her heel and slamming back into the house. Puck actually _feels _Mike Chang flinch in the seat next to him.

"Why you gotta be such a dick, Puckerman?" Sam asks, slurring a bit.

"It's just Rachel. She knows I'm fucking around."

"Whatever, dude."


	2. Chapter 2

She nearly jumps out of her skin when her phone rings on the pillow next to her head, startling her out of her cat nap and making her knock her book to the floor. She had been lying on her bed and reading a book Tina recommended, but she'd gotten so little sleep the night before that she must have dozed off.

"Hello?" she answers, doing the thing with her voice where you pretend you didn't just wake up even though her eyes are still closed.

"So, I was kind of a dick last night."

She recognizes Noah's voice, but she still pulls the phone away from her ear to check the display. She flops back against the pillows with a sigh. "Yes, you were," she agrees tiredly.

"Did I wake you up?"

"I was reading," she answers, and she figures it's only half a lie, if that even matters.

He scoffs, but he doesn't argue. "Anyhow, Sam wanted me to call and apologize or whatever."

"Oh, well, if that's what Sam wanted," she says bitchily. If he's apologizing because _Sam _wanted him to, he doesn't really need to waste his time. And anyhow, she wasn't entirely surprised by his behavior at the party. She'll never admit that she was hoping that he might have been different this summer than he had in the past, but she definitely wasn't surprised that he isn't.

He swears under his breath. "Come on, Berry. I was drunk, and I didn't really think before I opened my mouth. I didn't mean to piss you off."

She thinks, not for the first time, that Noah doesn't often think before he speaks, and it really isn't fair to blame the alcohol. She also knows that he's going to pretend that the kiss never happened, and she truly doesn't mind. Part of her wishes that it hadn't.

"I'm not angry," she tells him with a sigh. "You're a jerk, but I've come to expect it from you."

"Thanks a lot," he says sarcastically. It makes her smile.

"I'm just being honest, Noah. Nothing to be upset about."

"Shut up."

"More evidence of your jerkiness," she teases, laughing when he huffs. "I'm kidding. We're fine."

It's the truth, even if that's weird. She's not angry, doesn't want to be angry with him even if he deserves it. He's always acted like this towards her, and if he's going to pretend that he didn't kiss her, she'll play along. He just laughs at her quietly, and it's like it he knew that she would forgive him (or whatever). That should probably annoy her, but it doesn't. There have always been things that Noah does that would annoy her if he was anyone else.

"So, you wanna hang out?" he asks, and she's laughing before she can even help herself. So is he, even when he starts talking again. "No, seriously. Chang's having dinner with Tina's parents, and Finn's having Sunday dinner with his grandma or whatever, and I might actually kill my sister if I don't get out of my house."

"Listing all of the other people you'd rather be hanging out with - and the person you're avoiding - really isn't the way to win me over, Noah."

"It's not like that. God, Berry, it's not like you're a last resort or something. We've hung out before. Last summer," he offers.

She tries to ignore the clenching low in her belly at the mention of summer. It's absurd, because she knows that he's referring to parties they both attended and playing music in her room and how she sometimes watched movies at his house with Abby on Saturday afternoons. If he was talking about that night (and God, she hates that she thinks of it as _that night_), he would have changed his voice, made it low and husky and so incredibly sexy that it's part of the reason she slept with him in the first place. It's the same voice he used when they were in the Hummel kitchen last night.

She orders herself to stop thinking like that.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I'll pick you up in fifteen," he says instead of answering, and he hangs up before she gets a chance to repeat her question.

They wind up in his truck parked at a local drive-in restaurant, sipping milkshakes with the windows rolled down and the radio playing quietly.

"I haven't even had dinner," Rachel tells him after a minute. He looks over at her and smirks. "What?"

"Empty calories before you've had a perfectly balanced vegan meal?" he teases.

"Do you know how hard it is to be vegan when you live in a dorm?" She rolls her eyes. "I would have starved if it wasn't for cereal."

She's slouched a little in the seat, turned towards him slightly with her legs stretched out so her feet are resting near the gearshift. She's wearing a pair of little denim shorts that he remembers from last summer at Brittany's Fourth of July barbecue. "You don't look like a girl who's starving." She lifts her eyebrows, and he shrugs, taking another drink of his shake. "I'm just sayin'. You look good."

"Thanks," she says easily, accepting the compliment the way he knows she thinks she's supposed to.

He doesn't really think it through before he says, "You looked good last night, too."

She gazes at him curiously as she sips her shake. "Thank you," she finally answers.

Part of the reason he expected this whole week to be so hard is because he actually doesn't hate hanging out with Rachel. He knows that behind all of her crazy (and yes, there's definitely an element of actual crazy there), she's just passionate and determined, and when you care about the same things as her, the crazy starts to make a lot more sense. (As if his thought process about this whole thing makes any.) And the thing is, he's always liked her better when he's got her alone. She's more relaxed and talks less, and she was one of the first people to actually listen to anything he had to say without it just being because she was scared of him.

He's a little afraid that if he lets himself remember how much he likes just hanging out with her and then adds in the memory of the way she pushed her hair off her face when she was riding him last summer, he might...fuck. He might decide that he wants to do something really stupid and like, try to date her.

He's totally fucked.

She shifts in her seat, leaving her flip flops in the floorboard and pulling her legs up so she's sitting Indian-style. It isn't so terrible, sitting here with Noah, listening to Johnny Cash with the taste of strawberry milkshake on her lips.

"Do you think you'll be sure soon?"

She looks over at him and blinks, confused.

"Last night, in the kitchen, I asked if-"

"I remember what you asked," she interrupts, catching on quickly. She had a hard time falling asleep because of it. (And she will never, ever tell him that.)

"Right," he says with a smirk. "You said you weren't sure if you'd be down for it. Will you be sure soon?"

Even though the windows are both down and the late-May weather is lovely, it suddenly feels stifling in the cab of the truck. She can feel the flush spreading across her chest under her Oberlin tee shirt. God, she should have known that this would come up sooner than later; she's known him for years, and he has a one-track mind like no one else she's ever met.

Of course, she'd had one night to learn just how well that could pay off for the object of his attentions.

She realizes that he's watching her and forgets to be indignant. "I don't know," she manages, and she's thankful that her voice sounds stronger than her conviction. "It's not really a decision to be undertaken lightly, is it? But I am considering it," she continues quickly, knowing exactly what sort of things might come out of his mouth. And as dangerous as she knows it is, she is considering it.

"Anything I can do to help?"

She shivers, just slightly, and forces herself to keep her breathing even. She almost wishes that she _was _the sort of girl who just falls into bed with men because it feels good. She knows exactly how good it is with this man.

"I think I can handle myself, thanks." He groans at the implication in her words and turns the key in the ignition. "Where are we going?"

"Fuck if I know." What he does know is that if he doesn't do something, he's going to slide across the bench seat and kiss her, and he knows she'd freak out because there's a minivan full of kids parked across from them. And, you know, because "she isn't sure." He isn't going to kiss her again until she gives him an answer.

They wind up just cruising around town, chatting about school and the wedding until it's dark, and he takes her home because he can't stand being in the confined space with her any more.

Noah is making her crazy.

All right, so maybe that isn't exactly fair since she hasn't seen him since Sunday evening, and she's literally been hiding out for three days and cursing herself for planning a summer with such ample free time. She's gone to her dance classes and voice lesson, spent Tuesday afternoon having a _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ marathon with Tina (The show is pretty silly, but it's still fun, and their plan is to watch the entire series by summer's end.), and unpacked all of her things from her dorm, and she is officially sick of spending time in her bedroom and her backyard. Problem is, she hasn't figured out what she wants to do about Noah.

That isn't the truth, strictly speaking. She knows what she _wants _to do with him. Thinking about what she wants to do is the reason her showers have been cooler than usual. (And it really isn't working.) She just hasn't decided if it's a terrible idea or a marvelous one.

They had sex once, and it was incredible. She's dramatic enough to say that he may have ruined her. She had dated a couple of guys during the school year, one, Zack, seriously enough that they slept together. After a few weeks of comparing him to Noah (and feeling like an awful person because of it), she broke it off with some flimsy-but-believable story about focusing on school and not having time for a relationship. She felt bad, because Zack was incredibly sweet and treated her well, but wasn't there something horribly wrong with thinking about one man when another was inside you?

"Earth to Rachel!"

She blinks once and looks at Tina. "What did you say?"

"I said your name three times," Tina says, her expression a combination of confusion and amusement. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Rachel answers quickly, shifting uncomfortably. She's at the day spa with Tina, Mercedes, Quinn, and Mrs. Fabray for an afternoon of pre-wedding pampering. (All on Mr. Fabray's dime. He has an awful lot of guilt over his behavior regarding Quinn's pregnancy and cheating on his now-ex-wife, and he's throwing enormous amounts of money around trying to asuage that guilt. No one - Quinn least of all - is complaining about reaping the benefits.) Mrs. Fabray is in a private room getting a massage, and Mercedes and Quinn are getting facials and manicures simultaneously while Tina and Rachel sit in fancy massaging pedicure chairs beside one another.

Tina rolls her eyes. "Please, Rachel. You're never thinking about nothing. Don't act like I don't know you."

"Well, nothing important," Rachel amends, sighing quietly when Tina tilts her head. What's the harm, really, in getting an opinion from one of her closest friends? Sure, she might tell Mike later, but Rachel believes he can be discreet. "If I tell you about this, you can't say _anything_. Do you understand?"

Tina nods adamantly, and Rachel drops her eyes to the massage control panel on the arm of the chair, fiddling with it while she tries to decide the best way to broach the subject. She finally decides that blunt is the way to go.

"I slept with Noah last year, and now I'm trying to decide if I should engage in a physical relationship with him this summer," she says in a rush. When she looks up, her friend is just blinking at her. "Say something!"

"Mike told me he thought something happened, but I didn't believe him," she finally says, shaking her head a little.

She thanks the universe for Mike's discretion. "Well, what should I do?" If she's going to make such a confession, she's going to get an opinion.

Tina's eyes gleam. "Is he as good as he says he is?" she asks, not even bothering to hide her smirk.

"Yes," Rachel answers simply, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Remember when I was dating that guy? Zack?" Tina nods. "You know how I couldn't give you a good reason to break up with him? The real reason was because I couldn't have sex with him without thinking of Noah."

Tina's eyes widen and she blinks twice before bursting out laughing. "That's amazing," she manages after a while. "Oh, Rachel. I'm pretty sure you just made my day, seriously."

"Thanks so much for your sensitivity." She scowls when Tina laughs harder, and there are actually tears in her eyes. "Honestly, what do you think I should do?"

Tina opens her mouth to answer, but stops when a pair of nail techs come over and perch on the little stools at their feet. The four of them make small talk, chatting about the wedding and summer plans, and Rachel pretends like she cares about the insipid conversation.

She has to make a decision about this soon, or she's going to go crazy.

It's difficult to enjoy the rest of the pedicure process when she's desperate to hear what Tina thinks, but she refuses to have such a personal discussion in front of two complete strangers, however nice they are.

She waits until they've shuffled across the room in their flimsy foam flip flops and are sitting with their feet under the dryers. "Please, Tina, tell me what you think I should do." She's practically begging, which she doesn't love, but she's completely out of patience.

Tina turns her upper body so they're facing one another. "Look, you and Puck are friends, right? You're both consenting adults, and you trust each other, so I don't see why you shouldn't. Especially," she adds, "if he's as good as you say."

"What if it interferes with our friendship?" Rachel asks, even though she's smiling.

"So?" Tina shrugs. "You call it off and go back to whatever you were before. Or are now, I guess."

Rachel nods slowly, leaning back in her chair and gazing across the spa. Everything Tina said makes sense, and she doesn't really have a good reason _not _to engage in this physical relationship with Noah. There are plenty of reasons that she should, starting with the way he kisses that spot beneath her ear and and ending with the fact that no one has ever made her come as hard as he did.

She flinches when Tina says her name, jerking her out of her thoughts again. "Yes?"

"You don't have feelings for Puck, do you? Because in that case..."

"No," she answers firmly. "We're friends. Nothing more."

"Then you should get naked with him as soon as possible," Tina says as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

(Maybe it should be. Maybe it is.)

Puck is not a patient guy. He's also not the douche that he was in high school, so as much as he wants to call Rachel and find out if she's made up her mind yet, he's not going to pressure her. When she's ready to talk about it, she'll find him.

Right?

He hasn't seen or heard from her since Sunday, but he knows he'll see her at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. She's avoiding him, yeah, but she isn't going to go so far as to do something that might interfere with Quinn's wedding. They may have hated one another at different points in high school, but they're obviously close now since Rachel's playing bridesmaid, and that's a big deal for girls.

He's sitting in the Changs' media room with Sam and Mike, playing Gran Turismo and drinking beer even though it's pretty early in the afternoon. Oh, and he's trying not to think about Rachel fucking Berry. His phone has been basically glued to his hand for the last four days (right now, it's on vibrate in his pocket), and he hasn't taken a shower that could even be called lukewarm all week.

He tosses the controller onto the table with a groan when he crashes out.

"Dude, where's your head?" Sam asks without taking his eyes off the giant flat screen.

And the bullshit question just makes him think about Rachel again. "Fuck off," he answers.

Sam's eyebrows quirk upwards. "Hostility, man. Take it down."

Since he can't think of anything to say that isn't prickish, he takes a drink of beer instead. "Where the fuck's Hudson?"

"His girl drove in this morning," Mike answers. He whoops when he finishes the race ahead of Sam, then drops his controller onto the coffee table. "They're hanging out or whatever."

"So he's railing her."

"Geez, Puck, will you ever _not _be crude and disgusting?" Tina asks, walking into the room and dropping onto the couch next to Mike.

He's actually cool with Tina, but he still rolls his eyes as he watches her give Mike a chaste kiss. "Probably not."

"Well, at least you're honest."

He knocks back the rest of his beer when he sees her hand resting on Chang's thigh because that, like every other fucking thing, makes him think about Rachel. "I'm going up to get another beer," he announces, standing and going toward the door. He grunts at Sam's request that he bring another down with him and takes the stairs two at a time.

"Jesus fuck," he swears, nearly jumping out of his skin when he closes the refrigerator door and Tina's standing on the other side.

She snags one of the bottles from hand with a smile. "I had an interesting conversation today at the spa," she says, reaching into a drawer for a bottle opener.

"That's a twist-off," he tells her flatly, shaking his head when she shrugs. He twists off his own cap pointedly (she's unimpressed) and takes a long drink. "I don't care what happened at the fucking spa, T."

"Of course you do." She takes a sip from her bottle. "I was talking to Rachel."

She's turned and is on her way down the stairs before he even registers what she said, and he isn't quick enough to catch her before she's back in the media room and on the couch next to Chang. Fuck.

"Quinn said the spa was fun," Sam's saying when Puck gets back to the media room. He glares at Tina because Mike isn't paying attention enough to give him shit about it.

"It was," she agrees, ignoring Puck. "Pampering and girl talk. Rachel and I had a really good conversation. It was a good time." Okay, so maybe she isn't _actually _ignoring Puck, but she's pretending that she is while she tortures him.

He is not drunk enough to listen to this. Because he isn't drunk at all. "I'm out," he states, sitting his beer on the coffee table. He's glad that this was just the beginning of his second drink, because that means there isn't a problem with him driving home.

"What the hell?" Sam asks, looking up at him.

He shrugs. "It's whatever." It isn't a real answer, but that isn't unusual for him. "I'll see you at the rehearsal tomorrow night." He bumps fists with the guys and avoids looking at Tina.

"Oh, Puck, you should stay," she says, her voice syrupy.

He ignores her, turning deliberately and going up the stairs. He generally thinks Tina's pretty cool; she has this sneaky, wicked sense of humor, and she's never really given the guys shit, even when they were doing really ridiculous things. But right now, he kinda hates her. It's obvious that "spa day" is girl slang for "gossip sesh," and Goth (He still calls her that sometimes, even though her look has totally changed.) thinks it's funny to rub his face in it. What's really annoying about that is the fact that it doesn't give him any insight into what the hell Berry's thinking. Tina could just as easily bust his balls over the fact that Rachel doesn't want anything to do with his ass as she could over the news that he's going to be getting it in on the regular.

Fuck it. He jerks his phone out of his pocket and dials Rachel's number as he climbs in the truck and shoves his keys into the ignition. It rings twice and goes to voicemail, and he curses as he drops the phone on the seat next to him. Having someone hit the ignore button when you call? Yeah, it's annoying, and it makes him consider his options.

He could track her down. Lima's not big, and she's always been predictable. She's at her house or one of the girl's houses, and even if she isn't at one of those places right this second, she will be eventually. He could wait her out, park his truck on her street until she comes home.

Or he could wait. Like, actually wait. In just over twenty-four hours, they'll both be at the rehearsal dinner. She won't be able to run away or lock him out, but he knows he can get her alone for long enough to force her to answer. And it has the added perk of not making him look like a psycho stalker.

So maybe he could be spending his time looking for someone new, but he can admit that Rachel is his top choice. She's hot as fuck, first of all, and there are the superficial benefits like flexibility and bedroom eyes and that tight little body with all that smooth skin. She'd been one of the girls on his list in high school, but she was Finn's girl, and he actually didn't want to fuck things up with glee club and his friend, so he kept his distance. Honestly, he never thought he'd get to check off her name, so he stopped trying, even after she and Hudson called it quits. They were just friends right up until Chang's end of summer party.

They were all drunk, scattered through the Chang house and spilling out into the back yard even though it was still hot as fuck. Puck had just gotten a new beer, condensation forming on the bottle as soon as he stepped back out into the sweltering night. He crossed the patio to where Finn was standing and talking to Rachel. She was perched on the railing, one arm wrapped around a post to keep her from toppling over, and Puck noticed (definitely not for the first time) how hot she looked in that little plaid sundress. She had pulled her hair up in a messy ponytail a while ago, and her cheeks were flushed, though he didn't know if it was from the heat or all the vodka she'd been drinking.

"Noah, tell Finn to go to bed," she pleaded, looping her arm through his to pull him closer and letting go as soon as he complied. It was too hot for touching.

He looked at her like she was crazy. (She was.) "I think he can take care of himself."

"Tha's right," Finn slurred. Puck snickered when he noticed how his friend was swaying on his feet.

"He's drunk," Rachel countered flatly. "And if he doesn't lie down in a bed soon, he's going to wind up passed out on the kitchen floor. And someone will do something horrible to him." She talks even faster when she's been drinking, but Puck was drunk too, so it was funny instead of annoying.

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "They'll draw phalluses on his face with permanent marker or shave his eyebrows or whatever other ridiculous and unfunny thing drunken idiots come up with."

Finn blinked at her slowly. "Why would someone draw phones on me?" he asked, misunderstanding what she'd said.

Rachel had given Puck a pleading look, and he had to admit that she was right. Well, he wouldn't admit it out loud, but he could give her what she wanted. "Dude, go to bed. Nobody's in Mike's sister's room."

"Okay," Finn agreed easily, turning and walking into the house without further argument. Puck shot a wink at Rachel, leaning against the railing next to her.

"Thank you," she said pointedly. She only managed to be quiet for a few moments before she began talking again. "It's unseasonably warm."

"It's fucking hot."

She nudged him with her elbow, shaking her head. "Is that beer cold?" He nodded. "May I have a drink?" He turned to look at her. He'd seen her drink over the last few years, but he'd never once seen her drink beer. "What? I'm thirsty, Noah, that's all."

He handed her the bottle and watched her drink, smirking when her nose wrinkled. "That's hot." She raised her eyebrows at him and took another sip. "You drinking out of a beer bottle. S'hot."

She gave his drink back. "It isn't terrible. I think I could learn to like beer. I mean, really. I learned to like you," she offered, giggling when he looked at her sideways.

"That goes both ways, Crazy."

They'd just sat there, watching one another, and Puck doesn't know who started it, but then they were kissing, and he had turned to face her, standing between her legs with his arm around her waist so she didn't fall backwards off the railing she was perched on. After a while - and he didn't know how long it was - she'd pushed him away a little bit, slipping to her feet and taking his hand to lead him into the house and up the stairs.

Puck pulls into his driveway and orders himself to stop thinking about the past. He remembers that Abby has a softball game tonight when he notices that his mom's car isn't parked in its usual spot. So that's what he'll do. He'll find something to eat, then he'll go to the ball fields and see how long it takes to embarrass his little sister in front of all of her snotty friends.

He'll worry about Rachel tomorrow night.


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel is sitting in the first pew of the Fabrays' enormous church, taking in her surroundings while Sam and Quinn's parents and the rest of her friends mingle and chat. They're waiting on Finn, Mike and Tina, and Noah, but no one is late yet. (Really, Rachel doesn't expect that anyone will be. Quinn's stress level has her just this side of bridezilla, and no one wants to see her slip across that line.)

She's just looking around, taking in her surroundings, and she realizes that there's something really beautiful about this church. She's Jewish, of course, and not particularly religious, but the setting sun is streaming through the stained glass windows, bathing everything in a wash of color, and there are masses of unlit candles in beautiful holders throughout the sanctuary. She understands the appeal of a church wedding in a way that she hasn't really before. (She's always imagined her own wedding ceremony taking place by candlelight.)

"I'm not late!"

Finn's voice rings through the sanctuary, and he looks horrified when everyone turns to look at him. "Sorry," he stage whispers. "But I'm not late. Puck just pulled in behind me, and I know Mike and Tina aren't here." He's speaking rapidly, the way he does when he's nervous.

Mercedes catches Rachel's eye, and both girls have to stifle giggles.

"No, Finn, you aren't late," Quinn confirms. Her mouth is set in a thin line, but her eyes are bright. "But it really isn't appropriate to raise your voice in a church."

He drops his gaze to his feet and shoves his hands in the pockets. "Sorry," he mumbles, looking absolutely pathetic.

Mrs. Fabray is the first to break, her giggles ringing through the sanctuary, and everyone else follows suit, including the priest. (The exception, unsurprisingly, is Quinn's father.)

"It's fine," the priest finally says, and it's a good thing. Finn probably wouldn't accept it from anyone else. "As long as you don't come charging into a service like that, it's fine."

They haven't been together for nearly a year, and they definitely made the right decision when they went their separate ways, but she thinks part of her will always be in love with the awkward, clueless boy she fell for when she was fifteen. She likes that he reminds her of that once in a while.

When everyone has arrived and the wedding planner has run through the ceremony verbally, Rachel finds herself standing in the anteroom, lined up with the rest of the wedding party, preparing to act her part. She can feel Tina's eyes on her when she takes her place beside Noah, and the way Mike glances over his shoulder at them tells her that he's heard all about the girls' conversation at the spa.

The pianist begins to play, and the wedding planner, standing in the doorway, sends Mike and Tina down the aisle. "You'll wait until they get halfway to the front," he instructs, and Rachel nods.

"You've been avoiding me," Noah murmurs, offering his arm.

"I've been busy," she lies smoothly, looping her arm through his the way she's supposed to. She tries to ignore the play of his muscles; she's pretty sure it's his fault that she's in the habit of looking at men's arms with a critical eye.

He smirks when she lies (he knows her better than that) but says nothing until they've begun taking measured steps toward the front of the church, tilting his head down to speak into her ear. He knows that this is probably as close to alone as they're going to get. "You know you look totally hot tonight, right?"

"Thank you."

That, she knows, is the truth. Her dress is plum-colored washed crepe with a deep-v neckline and wide straps. It nips in at the waist, and the hem falls just above her knee, and it was worth every excessive penny she spent. The color is beautiful against her skin, and she works hard to keep her body in top shape. The fact that she can show it off like this is, honestly, just a bonus. She bought the dress on Saturday with Quinn, before her encounter with Noah, but she'd be lying if he hadn't crossed her mind when she saw herself in the dressing room mirror. More of his comments about her wardrobe were suggestive than not, but regardless of how inappropriate his words were, they tended to make her feel good about herself.

"Rachel." The way he says her name - like he's wants to unzip that dress and watch it pool at her feet - makes her look up to meet his gaze. "Are you sure yet?"

She bites her lip because the way he's speaking brings images into her mind that are most certainly not appropriate for church. "Yes, I've made my decision, but this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it," she whispers quickly.

They've reached the front of the church, and though she knows Noah wants to question or argue, there's nothing he can do but let go of her arm and go to stand next to Mike to the left of the aisle. She takes her place beside Tina, shaking her head a little at her friend's lifted eyebrows. She can feel Noah's eyes on her, but she focuses her gaze on Mercedes and Finn, laughing as they walk up the aisle.

Yes, she's made her decision. She was nearly convinced after her conversation with Tina, but she realized that the only truly sensible way to make up her mind was to do it logically.

She made a pro-con list.

There were drawbacks to engaging in this sort of relationship with Noah, but they were far outnumbered by the benefits. Having it spelled out in black and white, on paper and in her own handwriting, was the last bit of convincing she needed.

Once she'd made up her mind, she had to think about the best way to tell Noah. She knows him well enough to predict his reaction to the news; hearing that she's willing to engage in a sexual liaison will automatically translate to the desire (he would say need) to be naked as quickly as possible. They need to keep it together through the rehearsal dinner - and yes, the portion where they eat food is part of that. If she fills him in before they get to the restaurant, he's going to try to convince her that they should cut out early. She isn't willing to do that, and she isn't too keen on explaining that to him. (Or, if she's honest, resisting when he starts working to change her mind.)

Puck gives up on trying to catch her eye from across the church when Quinn comes up the aisle and the priest starts going through his portion of the ceremony. Puck lets himself zone out; he's never been to a Catholic mass, but he's pretty sure it's going to suck that it's part of this wedding. He knows McPriesty is glossing over things and it's still taking forever.

Rachel isn't looking at him now, but based on what he saw in her eyes when they were walking together, he thinks he's going to get his way. See, the way he figures it, if she was going to turn him down, she wouldn't have any problem telling him to fuck off. (Figuritively speaking, of course. She rarely swears and probably wouldn't over this.) But this? It's like she's playing some game, and as much as he hates it, he kind of digs it too. Partially because he thinks it's going to work out in his favor, and partially because it's like ridiculous foreplay.

When he finally does get her out of that dress - and yeah, he's pretty confident that it's going to be tonight - he's going to rock her world.

He's playing along.

She's working so hard at avoiding him that she hasn't noticed that he isn't trying to get close to her. She rushed into Mercedes' car when they left the church to go to the restaurant, and she'd somehow managed to seat herself between Finn and Mrs. Fabray before he'd even made it into the building. But it's fine, really. He's sitting between Tina, who knows what's going on, and Mrs. Evans, who's so focused on Sam that Puck could probably do something really disgusting under the table without her noticing. So he's just enjoying the party, stealing little covert glances at Rachel whenever he's pretty sure she's paying attention.

She expects it. If he wasn't looking at her, she'd figure out what was going on and it would all be cut short. This way he gets to look at her and keep it up, admiring the curve of her neck and that dark, shiny fall of hair.

She excuses herself to the bathroom after Mr. Evans insists on ordering dessert for the table, and Puck knows it's his opening. He waits exactly 90 seconds before he excuses himself and follows, and even though he feels like a creep leaning against the wall outside the women's restroom, the way she blinks at him when she steps out is worth it. "Noah," she says quietly, smoothing her hands over the front of her dress. "Did you need something?"

"Out with it, Rach."

"I beg your pardon?" As if it wasn't strange enough that he was waiting for her to leave the restroom, now he's making demands? At least, that's how she's going to play this.

He smirks. "I know you've figured out what you want." He takes a step forward in the narrow hallway and catches her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "Don't you think you should fill me in?"

Her stomach clenches, but it isn't entirely unpleasant. This cat and mouse game is weird. (Her vocabulary is more sophisticated than that, but weird actually seems like the most appropriate choice.)

She tugs her hand from his grip gently. "You know, there are oven a dozen reasons why it's a terrible idea," she says evenly.

"Yeah?"

She nods seriously, rubbing her lips together before she speaks. "Yes. I made a list. Potential awkwardness with mutual friends, conflicting schedules and priorities, the damage that could be done to our friendship. And that's just the beginning."

"Sounds risky."

"It is."

He smiles at her, a genuine smile, and she knows that this thing? It's become a game that they're both playing. "Most things worth doing? They come with risk," he tells her, shrugging lazily before stepping back and leaning against the wall again.

She steps closer to him, reaching out to straighten his tie. "You're right. And I'm in."

He catches her elbows and pulls her up against him, leaning down to just brush his lips against hers. The contrast between the two actions makes her shiver. "You're going to make me wait until after dessert, aren't you?"

"I really like tiramisu," she answers, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "But it certainly makes sense for you to drive me home instead of Mercedes."

"Because you're on my way," he agrees. His fingers are skimming up and down the backs of her arms, keeping their bodies close together, and she can feel that he's holding himself back. He leans down, his lips hovering near her ear. "I'm going to make you moan my name."

She lets out a breathless little laugh, pulling away from his arms. "It wouldn't be the first time," she reminds him in this sultry voice that goes straight to his junk, and he bites back a groan. Fuck.

He watches her walk down the hall, then steps into the bathroom to wash his hands just so they don't walk back into the dining room together. Or maybe it's so he doesn't grab her and push her up against the wall.

She really does love tiramisu, but she's honestly having a hard time enjoying it. She's a little distracted by the looks Noah is giving her from across the table, not to mention her own overactive imagination.

She's spent months trying not to think about that night with Noah. Even this week, while she was trying to make up her mind, she tried not to remember the specifics lest it cloud her good judgment. But now? Now that her mind is made up and she knows it's only a matter of time before they're together that way again, it's like she's having flashbacks. His fingers carding through her hair when he rolled her body beneath his, his lips against her neck, and the way he'd ground his hips into hers...

She means to take a sip of water, but it isn't quite enough to cool her off, and it turns into more of a gulp. This anticipation? It's unraveling her self-control, and she doesn't like that even a tiny bit. Rachel Berry is nothing if not composed and controlled.

She gives up the act before she's even finished half of her dessert, faking a wide yawn and folding her napkin next to her plate.

"Did you really just yawn?" Mercedes asks with a little laugh.

Rachel uses her defensive voice when she answers, though she's grateful that Mercedes noticed. "I was up early this morning for ballet, and it's been a busy week. It makes sense that I would be exhausted."

"Maybe you should call it an early night," Tina suggests. Her eyes are bright and Noah is smirking, and Rachel has to fight the urge to glare at both of them.

"That's probably a good idea," she agrees. She looks over to Quinn. "You won't be upset if I leave a little early, will you?"

"Not at all," Quinn answers easily. She's completely oblivious to the situation.

"Well, if you really don't mind," Rachel says with a smile. Truthfully, if Quinn wanted her to stay, she would have. She would have hated herself for it, but she would have stayed. "Mercedes, there's no reason for you to leave just because I didn't get enough sleep. I'll just call my fathers to come and get me."

Puck can't help rolling his eyes at her little act, but he gets that this is his part. "Don't be stupid, Berry. I'll take you." He shrugs when Mike glances over at him. "She's on my way."

"That would be very nice, Noah, thank you."

Rachel does the thing where she has to give everyone a hug, and Puck shakes Mr. Evans' hand and kisses Quinn's cheek, and when they finally get out the door, he has to force himself not to grab her and drag her across the parking lot to his truck.

He walks with her to the passenger side meaning to unlock the door so she can get in, but he has her pinned against it with his lips on hers before he actually realizes what he's doing. It takes more than a few seconds, but she pulls away and laughs his name breathlessly. Undeterred, he skims his lips along her jaw, smirking when she lets out a little moan and clutches his collar. "God, just take me home."

He definitely doesn't make her say it again.

He's actually making an effort not to break every traffic law on the book, but it's really hard to concentrate on things like speed limits and stop signs with her all pressed up against him and doing that thing to his ear. He sort of pulls her down out of the truck after him when they get to his house, but he catches her and she's laughing, so he figures it's okay.

She doesn't get a chance to catch her breath until he finds the zipper at the back of her dress and pushes the straps from her shoulders. The material makes a little whispering noise as it slides down her body, pooling on the carpet at her feet. "God you look good," he tells her, and she thinks the black lace was a good investment.

She looks at him through her eyelashes as she reaches for his belt. "Thank you." She unbuttons his pants, then takes a step back, blinking up at him as she lowers herself onto the bed, and it's fucking insane just how much he wants her right now. "Stop teasing me."

He smirks at her, and it's ridiculous how sexy it is. He pushes his pants off his hips, then hooks an arm around her waist and moves her up the bed so she's against the pillows. "Sometimes the teasing's the best part," he murmurs against her lips, settling himself between her legs, and he groans when she shifts her hips. He nips at the hinge of her jaw and hisses out a breath when she presses her hand against him through his boxers. "Now who's teasing?"

She shivers when his fingertips trace up the inside of her thigh, and she can't help that she whimpers when they tease under the edge of her panties. "_Noah_, touch me. Please."

Apparently the begging works. He peels the lace from her body and replaces it first with his fingers, then his mouth, and he does something with his tongue that renders her incapable of forming words when she falls apart.

He moves up her body and kisses her before she can catch her breath, and it isn't until he slides one hand up her back that she realizes she's still wearing her bra. (They _had _been in a hurry; she forgives him for being distracted.) He pulls it off quickly though, then lowers his head to take one nipple between his teeth gently, and she's almost embarrassed by the sound she makes.

Her lips are moving against his neck while he reaches into the nightstand for a condom, and she's murmuring something that sounds like "fuck" and "please" and his name, and when he pushes into her without warning, she bites down on the juncture of his neck and his shoulder and lets out one of the best sounds he's ever heard.

He makes good on his promise to make her moan his name, and he makes sure to point it out when they're catching their breath, lying side by side on his bed with sweat drying on their skin.

She rolls onto her side and looks at him, her head propped up on her hand. "Think you can do it again?"

That shit's like a challenge, and the way she giggles when he tells her that lets him know that, yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing when she said it.

(And fuck yes, he makes her moan his name again. A few times, actually.)


	4. Chapter 4

"You might as well be wearing a sign that says, 'I got laid last night.'"

She cannot believe that Tina just said that to her. She looks around to make sure Qunn and Mrs. Fabray didn't hear, then glares at her friend. "Would you please keep the inappropriate comments to yourself?"

Tina smirks. "There's a hickey on the back of your neck," she says smugly, laughing when Rachel's mouth drops open.

She digs through her bag for concealer. "I'll kill him," she mutters, rolling her eyes when Tina laughs again.

Rachel pulls her hair over one shoulder when Tina takes the concealer from her hand. She's completely mortified; it isn't that she's ashamed of sleeping with Noah, or even that she wasn't going to tell anyone, but advertising her new arrangement with a hickey at her best friend's wedding? Not exactly what she had planned.

"So," Tina draws out, patting loose powder over the concealer. "Was it worth it?"

Rachel's cheeks warm, but she can't help smiling. "Definitely."

She feels about thirteen when they both dissolve into giggles, and it's kind of wonderful after the tension she put herself through all week.

Puck can admit that it's cool that Sam is excited instead of nervous. (Of course, if he'd been with the same girl for three years without getting any play, he'd probably be excited on the day he was finally going to get laid, too.) He thinks about reminding Sam that he's less than twelve hours from banging his girl before the ceremony starts, but he thinks better of it and offers a fist bump and a "good luck, dude," instead.

The girls come out when Sam heads up front and the big double doors are closed, and Rachel looks fucking hot in her pale yellow dress with her hair pulled away from her face. He tells her that when she takes his arm and ignores the way Tina glances over her shoulder at them.

(Honestly, he thinks he owes Tina. Rachel mentioned that T had 'played a role in the decision-making process.')

Even though she's already seen her, Rachel gets tears in her eyes when Quinn walks down the aisle in her wedding dress. She's beautiful, and she's so happy, and Rachel can't be blamed for the way her heart swells over the whole thing. She rather likes it.

Puck kind of just wishes Q hadn't insisted on a religious ceremony, because this mass stuff? Fucking long. He sort of stops paying attention when people start kneeling, and he wishes there was a way that he could sneak a drink from the flask in his jacket pocket. (What? He didn't trust Sam's open bar promise.) He settles for shoving his hands in his pockets and counting the number of times the priest makes references to sex or children in his little speech.

Okay, he'll admit that the part where they actually say 'I do' is good, because he's pretty sure that he's never seen either of them look happier (and he's known Q for years).

He's the first one to cheer when they kiss, but he isn't the only one who does, so he knows Quinn won't kill him later. He glances across the aisle and laughs when he sees that Rachel's eyes are all bright and shiny with tears, because of course she's crying at a wedding. He thinks he's probably seen her cry in just about every kind of situation before, including at Burt and Carole's wedding. With the exception of his little sister, he's probably seen Rachel cry more than anyone else in his life, which is pretty fucked up when you consider that they mostly avoided one another for all but the last four years.

(It's really weird that he doesn't hate it.)

Noah starts teasing her as soon as she takes his arm for the recessional, but she can't find it in herself to be annoyed by it. Honestly? She's still on a little bit of that post-sex-after-four-months high from last night, so she isn't even bothered by the fact that he and Mike start taking covert sips from a flask while they're all posing for the photographer before the reception.

Really, this was probably the best way to begin the summer. She's gotten a chance to spend time with her close friends, and at the reception she gets to say hello to several acquiantances from high school, most of whom she isn't particularly interested in talking to for more than a few minutes. No one seems to mind that a large percentage of the guests are underage, like the bride and groom, so she keeps accepting glasses of champagne, and she's giggling tipsily with Mercedes when Noah steps up behind her. His lips brush her ear when he asks if she wants to dance, and she knows that her voice will sound all breathy if she tries to speak, so she just nods and lets him take her hand and lead her out to the dance floor.

"Your drunk laugh is awesome," he tells her as she rests her little hands on his shoulders.

Her eyes narrow a little. "I am not drunk," she tells him seriously.

"Buzzed," he corrects, letting one hand slide from her hip to the small of her back to pull her closer to him. "Whatever. It sounds good on you."

She actually smiles. "Thank you." Generally his compliments are limited to the superficial (the exception being her singing). It isn't as if this is some deep, insightful observation on his part, but it's different than what he would usually say. More, somehow, and wonders a little if he thinks that's what she expects now that they're sleeping together. She won't complain, certainly, but it isn't strictly necessary. She doesn't think it's a good idea to address it.

"Wow, what's going on in there?" he asks her with a laugh.

"Nothing," she answers quickly, shrugging a little. "Hey, who do you think will be next?"

"What do you mean?"

"Marriage. Happy ever after."

He scoffs. "You're aware that those two things aren't the same, right?"

"Well, of course," she says dismissively. "But you know what I mean."

He does, but he doesn't really have a good answer to her question. Fuck, they're all, like, nineteen and in college. He thinks he might want all that one day - a wife and a kid - but there's a lot of things he wants to take care of first. "Dunno," he finally answers. "Chang and Tina have been together the longest, but I don't really see that happening any time soon."

"No," she agrees. She looks over his shoulder at where Finn is dancing with his girlfriend from school, Fiona. She's tall and beautiful, with a short blonde bob, and Rachel's been trying to ignore the fact that the girl is basically her physical opposite. It makes her feel crazy that she's noticed it, and no matter how many times her friends try to tell her that she is, in fact, crazy, she'd like to believe that she's more sane than not. "What about Finn?"

"Dunno," he repeats. He thinks it's a stupid conversation that's going to get him in trouble somehow, though he does manage to keep the fact that he thinks Finn's new girl is hot to himself. He and Rachel aren't dating, but it's generally not good to tell a chick you've been naked that you think another girl is hot. (Unless it's Santana, but she's the exception to a fucking lot of those rules.) "Hey, we should hang out tonight."

"You really need to come up with some new euphemisms," she giggles, and it's way cuter than it should be. Hell, he shouldn't be thinking of her as _cute _at all.

"You know what I mean, right? If it ain't broke..."

"Ain't is an improper contraction." She slides one hand further up on his shoulder, then slips her fingertips under the collar of his shirt, brushing the skin there. It's ridiculous how much he likes that since, you know, she's just barely touching him.

The song changes to something faster, and she steps back, looking up at him and smiling a little before she shrugs. "I might be free tonight."

He sort of gapes when she turns and walks away from him, but just for a second before he shakes himself out of it and goes to the bar. If she's going to play a fucking tease, he needs another drink.

She has to walk away from him. Honestly.

She want to enjoy the reception, and if Noah has his hands on her, she's going to ask him to take her somewhere immediately. Dancing can be erotic, certainly, but a slow dance at their friends' wedding shouldn't be so sexually charged. (Particularly considering that her fathers are in the room.)

She decides to blame the champagne.

The reception is winding down; Quinn and Sam have both disappeared to change so they can leave for the airport, and most of the guests are sitting around chatting and eating cake. Puck is sitting with Artie, making plans to go fishing in a couple of weeks when Rachel slips into the chair next to him. She has a slice of cake, and she's licking frosting from her thumb when he turns to look at her. (Goddamn.)

"Are you planning on sharing that?"

She forks off a tiny bite, raising her eyebrows at him as she puts it in her mouth. "No."

"So you came over here to tease me?" he asks, and she smiles. She probably didn't actually do it on purpose, but watching her lick frosting from that fork is insanely hot. "That's fucking low, Berry."

"Noah, I'm just eating cake," she laughs, but there really isn't anything funny about the way he's looking at her. (It makes her feel naked. She doesn't mind terribly. Or at all.)

Artie clears his throat and excuses himself, but Puck doesn't bother to respond. He's too busy swiping his finger through the frosting on the top of Rachel's cake and smirking at her protests. It makes him want to lean forward and kiss her, which he knows is a fucking dangerous thought.

"This is strictly casual, right?"

The words had pulled him out of his doze, and he looked over at her. She was lying on her stomach, the sheets on his bed bunched at her waist and her hair a mess. "Casual," she repeated, her eyes trained on his. "We aren't dating, so there aren't going to be expectations or guilt or hurt feelings."

He had smirked. "I _expect _to see you naked on the regular," he had joked, "but yeah."

She reached over to brush her fingertips along the shell of his ear, gasping when he grasped her wrist and tugged her until she was straddling his hips, their chests pressed together as he kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth as he moved his hand between her thighs.

So, yeah. Sitting with her, watching her eat cake and wanting to kiss her because she's cute? It's dangerous. He's supposed to want to tear her dress off, not kiss her. (Okay, so he wants the dress off too, but that really isn't the point.)

"Let's get out of here," he says, and she laughs, shaking her head a little. "I'm totally serious."

"Noah, we can't just leave."

"Why the fuck not? Other people have. Sam and Q will be gone soon, and you know they won't care. Hell, they probably won't even notice."

"Noah-"

He cuts her off when he grabs the seat of her chair and tugs it so it's right against his, and her cheeks flame when he whispers something absolutely _filthy _into her ear, his breath hot against it. "Tell me you don't want me to do that," he demands, leaning back to look into her eyes. His are dark, and it makes her shiver.

She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it and swallows thickly. "I can't."

"Sure you can," he answers dismissively.

She shakes her head. "No, I mean I can't tell you I don't want you to do that," she explains, smiling when his eyes widen.

He can't believe she just agreed to that. Seriously, what he said? Not the kind of thing he would normally say to a girl he's slept with twice, and especially if that girl is Rachel. He was kind of just trying to get a rise out of her, but hearing that she's into it? He just succeeded in getting a rise out of himself, so to speak. "Jesus fuck," he mutters. "We need to leave right now."

"Noah-"

"Fuck it, Rach. I need you naked like, ten minutes ago."

She surprises herself when she stands up, takes his hand, and walks to the door, pausing for just a second to grab her handbag from her table.

To say that Noah knows what he's doing in bed would most definitely be an understatement, and he proved that to her last night. Multiple times. She's still a little sore, actually (it had been a while), but she can't find it in herself to care about that. She _wants _his hands on her body, and she tells him that when he's pulling her car onto the street.

"You cannot say shit like that when I'm driving," he tells her seriously, glaring at her when she slips her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Rachel."

"Sorry," she says, but he knows she's lying. He wonders if she's always going to be like this: this willing, this eager, this _hot_. He grabs her hand and squeezes, hard, when it drops to the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to being _right where he wants it_, and it isn't that he's opposed to something like road head (he's totally down, actually), but he's pretty sure that if she starts that shit now, he's going to wreck her car.

He makes it to her house without incident, though he decides that they need to stop starting shit like this when they're out in public; if they don't, it's just going to be a matter of time before he kills them both.

He pushes her hair to the side and starts kissing the back of her neck while she struggles to unlock the front door. "There's a hickey there, you ass," she breathes, pushing her body back against him. (Maybe it's a mixed message, but she can't find it in herself to care.)

"Yeah?" He starts tugging on the zipper at the back of her dress when she finally gets the door open. "I don't see anything."

"Makeup." She toes off her heels and pulls away from his arms when he kicks the door closed. "Not here," she says when he looks at her questioningly. "I don't know how long we have until my dads are home."

He knows he should care about her parents, but he really, really only cares about being inside her as soon as possible, so he just follows her up the stairs, reaching out to smack her ass because it's there and he wants to. (The little squeal she lets out before she giggles is a bonus.)

She's so worked up that he's barely touched her before she's falling apart. She'd be embarrassed about that, about the way she's whimpering and begging before her dress has even hit the floor, but it feels _so good_ that she forgets to care.

"How are you so fucking hot?" he demands. She's unfastening her bra and watching him take off his pants, breathing hard and looking at him with big, glassy eyes, and he realizes that he hasn't even kissed her yet. He pushes her back onto her bed, kissing her hard and cupping her breast as he lies between her parted legs. Her hand wraps around his length, and she twists her wrist, which makes him literally growl into her mouth. "Stop," he tells her gruffly, his lips sliding along her jaw until he can nip at her earlobe the way he knows will make her whimper.

She can barely breathe - she has to keep reminding herself to take breaths - but it feels so amazing that she doesn't care. She turns away from him, ignoring his protests, to reach into the drawer of her nightstand for a condom. She makes quick work of it, looking down between them to ensure that it's done properly, and then he's inside her and she can't really think any more.

"This was such a good idea."

"Fuck yes."

She isn't sure if he's agreeing or just _talking_, but she just can't make herself care about anything but the way he's just pulled one of her legs up over his hip and changed the angle so he's hitting something inside her that makes her gasp.

He practically tortures her, in the best way possible, and the first coherent thought she has when it's all over is that she could get addicted to this, to sleeping with him. It's that good, even if she does feel completely absurd thinking it as they're lying side by side on her bed, catching their breath.

She laughs a little bit, running a hand through her hair as she rolls onto her side to look at him. "I think this is going to be a fun summer."

His eyes rake down her naked body once, and he smirks. "Yeah," he agrees simply, ignoring the urge to lean forward and kiss her. "We're really good at fucking."

"You're ridiculous," she tells him, but she's laughing, and she doesn't push him away when he rolls over her, pinning her wrists over her head as he drops his lips to her chest. "_Such _a good idea," she repeats.


End file.
